


Under the Big Oak Tree

by HorseCrazyWriter76



Series: NaNoWriMo November 2019 [30]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorseCrazyWriter76/pseuds/HorseCrazyWriter76
Summary: I'll find you where the sun goes black.Prompt from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqR526rkqTM
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: NaNoWriMo November 2019 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541089
Kudos: 19





	Under the Big Oak Tree

It was a perfect day. The leaves on the big oak tree at the top of the hill swayed in time with the gentle cool breeze. The knee-high grass rippled across in waves, whispering among themselves.

_ Beautiful day _

_ Acorn _

_ Mouse _

_ Sun _

_ Beautiful day _

_ Snake _

_ Leaf _

_ Wind _

_ Beautiful day _

A young man stepped forward in to the grass. The fading purple of his hair caught the light. His tall frame threw a considerable shadow for the sun’s high position. He squinted against the sun, slowly wading his way through the grass.

Another young man stepped forward opposite. His dark brown hair was slicked firmly in to place, except for a single flyaway who dared to dance in the wind. He reached up and smoothed it down, but it ignored his effort to tame its haphazard dance. He was tall, as well, although not quite as tall as the first man. He took measured steps up the hill, 3 feet, 3 feet, 3 feet, all the way up in to the shade of the big oak tree.

The men knew each other. They clasped hands in a handshake they both knew by heart. The man with dark brown hair had insisted it was not useful for a long time since the man with fading purple hair had taught it to him. The man with dark brown hair didn’t say anything about the pointlessness of such a gesture today.

“Hi,” the man with the fading purple hair spoke first.

“Salutations.”

“Hi,” the man with the fading purple hair repeated, a tiny smile and blush forming on his face.

“How are you?” the man with the dark brown hair asked with an answering smile.

“I’ve been worse.”

“You’ve been better, too,” the man with the dark brown hair said, his smile folding back in to a resting neutral face, as he reached out to smooth one of the purple locks of hair that was falling in the other man’s face.

“Yeah, but, I’ll push through. Always have, always will,” the man with the fading purple hair shrugged. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not today, L.”

“Is there something you would like to do?”

“Fly up and away in to the clouds. Explore the solar system. Go find a new star. I dunno, there’s so much I want to do but can’t. Stupid human body.”

“Beautiful human body,” the man with the dark brown hair corrected, reaching out to take one of the purple-haired man’s hands. The man with the fading purple hair let him.

“Beauty and stupidity aren’t exclusive terms.”

“No, they aren’t exclusive, but there’s so many things you can do. Think about all the processes happening in your body just to keep you alive right now. I believe that’s something worth appreciating.”

“You’re right. Always have been, always will be.”

“No, I have never always been right. To claim that I am or could be would be false.”

“I know. Can we just sit back and watch the clouds?”

“Of course we can,” the man with the dark brown hair replied, and they lay down, their bodies making an imprint in the tall grass, their fingers loosely intertwined.

*****

It was a lazy night. The light from the crescent moon barely displayed the vibrant red leaves of the big oak tree. A rare freeze had shriveled up the grass. A warm breeze filtered through the night. 

The man with the deep purple hair walked to the top of the hill beside the man with dark brown hair. They lay down silently on the hard ground, and the man with dark brown hair began to whisper the names of the constellations, one hand raising to point out the clusters of stars.

“Luna Major,” the man with the dark brown hair whispered, reaching over to trace the pattern of freckles on the purple-haired man’s face.

“Nerd Major,” the man with the deep purple hair replied, tracing a pattern between the brown-haired man’s eyes, nose, and lips.

“Kiss Minor?” The man with the dark-brown hair said, leaning forward a little bit. The man with the deep-purple hair responded by closing the distance between their two faces. Each felt a tiny smile beneath their lips.

*****

It was a frightening evening. The haphazard stacks of leaves and jagged outlines of the patchy areas of foliage on the big oak tree cast harsh shadows against the setting sun. The grass had not grown back. A patchy breeze tried to push the medium purple haired man back inside. 

The medium purple haired man ran up the hill. He was weighed down by a heavy length of rope. He climbed the tree and tied the rope firmly around a branch. He checked to make sure the letter had had written was safely taped to his chest in a zip bloc bag in case it started to rain.

The medium purple haired man set the rope around his neck, took a deep breath, and let himself fall.

*****

It is a sad day. A slight drizzle has started. The big oak tree has lost its leaves to the wind and cold. The grass has still not grown back. A cold breeze whips through the jackets of anyone who dares to venture beyond their house.

The dark brown haired man has dared to venture out. He climbs the hill in precise, three feet long steps. A painted grey stone has been set in to the ground in front of a slight rise in the terrain. The stone holds only the first name of the purple haired man and a line the dark brown haired man had chosen from the letter taped to the purple haired man’s chest.

The letter itself has almost torn from the amount of times he has folded and unfolded it. It is tucked in a drawer in his room now, tear-stained, folded up in the jacket that still holds the scent of deodorant, pumpkin, and something more that is the purple haired man.

That isn’t the correct tense.


End file.
